It's Called the Whatcracker!
by Klondike Aura
Summary: May those who accept their position find satisfaction. May those who defy it find bliss. A collaboration with Dreamicide
1. Act I: Overture

It's Called the Whatcracker?!

A collaborative Princess Tutu fanfic by Dreamicide and Klondike Aura

* * *

"_May those who accept their position find satisfaction. May those who defy it find bliss."_

* * *

Act I: Overture

Ahiru wakes up approximately two hours before she needs to, tossing and turning in her bed. She doesn't want to get up, if only to push back the moment of truth when she will see that slip of paper posted on the door to the classroom. She knows at the very most she will probably be placed somewhere in the corps. Or someone who shows up in one scene and doesn't get to dance at all throughout the production.

While Fakir, on the other hand, is guaranteed to get a really good part. Maybe even the Nutcracker Prince! She had watched his audition alongside the other boys a few days ago, after she finished hers. He danced strongly and confidently, as always. Ahiru can't help but admire his discipline, and knows he is a shoo-in to have one of the main parts.

She stays in bed for as long as she can before trudging up and dragging her feet downstairs, where Fakir is already holding his textbooks and pulling the sleeve of his blue uniform jacket over his arms. Judging by his expression, he's clearly not surprised that she woke up at the last minute. "You have fifteen minutes left before class starts," he says. "Hurry up."

"You go," Ahiru responds, grabbing a piece of cold toast to nibble on.

He gives her another look, but then leaves without pressing anything. Ahiru's thoughts are too jumbled together to note that he doesn't put up an argument or anything.

* * *

Ahiru is immediately tackled by Pique as soon as she arrives in the locker room. "Ahiru, I can't believe it! What's with that face? Didn't you see?"

Immediately Ahiru blinks, confused. "Eh?"

Pique laughs heartily, making a grab for Ahiru's hand and dragging her out of the locker room dressed in her practice gear. "The list! Don't tell me you didn't even look at it before showing up for the first rehearsal?"

"O-oh." Her response is subdued. She allows Pique to steer her throughout the hallways before arriving to the front of the large practice room, pointing to a slip of paper that had been place on the door.

The first name Ahiru catches is Fakir's. A glance to the right and she confirms that he will be the Nutcracker Prince for the holiday performance. She makes a mental note to congratulate him later.

The next name she finds makes her heart skip a beat.

'_Ahiru...Clara'_

She stares at the list for a long moment, her breath taken away from her. Her? As _Clara_? But that's supposed to be a really good part! The part that only really good ballet dancers get, right? Why would _she _be chosen as Clara-?

Pique's playful shove to her shoulder interrupts Ahiru's train of thought. "You see? You can do it if you just put your mind to it, Ahiru! Now listen closely: this is going to be a really tough part, especially on you, so I'm gonna have to give you all my support, all right?" She gives another nudge, inciting Ahiru to turn around. "This means extra practice and _no showing up late to rehearsals_! Starting now!"

Ahiru is too busy widening her smile with every second. She loves both of her friends, but she always finds herself appreciating Pique's supportiveness just...a little bit more than Lillie's method of support. Which will surely be to tell her all about the possibilities of falling down and failing during the performance, once she catches wind of this.

But right now, Ahiru can only beam. "Pique..."

Her friend smiles back at her, just as brightly. "Hm?"

Eventually Ahiru can't contain herself any longer. It's just too exciting. So she throws herself at her friend, wrapping her arms around Pique's shoulder and hugging tight. "Oh, Pique!"

Pique laughs and reflects Ahiru's enthusiasm, returning the embrace. Soon enough the hallway is filled with giddy giggling.

Ahiru can't believe it. Just that morning she had been so lethargic and dreading everything about today. But somehow...somehow, she got the part of Clara. _The Nutcracker_'s Clara! And she didn't have to become Princess Tutu in order to do so!

Maybe, just maybe, she really can become a prima ballerina all on her own.

* * *

It has only been a few days since rehearsals for _The Nutcracker_ began. Ahiru knows she has a long way to go, but for once she's optimistic about improving on her dancing. Pique and even Fakir were in her support.

Ballet slippers slung over her shoulder and practice clothes in her tote bag, Ahiru is on her way back to Fakir's place when suddenly she is attacked.

Or rather, someone leaps on to her, crushing her to the ground, and subsequently begins clinging to her head without a care for her twisting neck or the dirt being rubbed in her face.

"QU-!"

"Oh, _Ahiru_, it's terrible! Absolutely terrible!" comes the shrill voice from above. Ahiru writhes, stammering out and confused.

"Wha-ah-eh?"

"See, even _you _are in pain for my predicament! You absolutely must help out, if we were to lack one person then the entire production will be a complete failure, _I just know it_~!"

It still takes a moment before Ahiru realizes that it's her other best friend currently tossing her around, arms wrapped around her neck in a vice grip.

"So you'll do it, right?" Lillie persists. "After all, you couldn't _possibly_ be in any other productions right now! You know you'll only trip and fall and make such an _adorable_ fool of yourself~!"

"I-ah-I-!" Ahiru attempts to protest.

"I _knew_ it! I _knew_ you would help me with my plight! Rehearsals start tomorrow night but I know you'll be late so don't worry about it! You're so _cuuuuute_!"

And with one final loving shove, Lillie finally lets go of Ahiru and is on her way once again.

The duck-turned-girl gets the sinking feeling that she should show up to whatever this rehearsal is unless she wants a reenactment of this tomorrow.


	2. Act I: The Battle

Act I: The Battle

Ahiru blinks in confusion before the world becomes clear.

A beautiful Christmas tree towers before her in a quaint little house, an ornament hanging in her right hand. She notices an odd weight on her left hand and holds it up to look. She isn't sure where the beautiful silver ring came from, embellished with the image of a swan with a diamond sitting in the place of the eye, but its presence on her ring finger is not unwelcome.

And then another hand gently grasps hers. She feels the warmth as familiar arms embrace her.

"We should finish decorating the tree before our guests arrive," Mytho says, guiding the hand holding the ornament to a nearby branch.

"Mm-hmm," she hums in agreement to him as he kisses the back of her head, his thumb stroking her hand.

The quiet moment is interrupted by a knock on the front door.

"Speak of the devil," Mytho comments, reluctantly letting go so he can admit their guest.

There's a creak of a door and the exchange of greetings before Mytho calls, "Ahiru, your aunt Edel is here."

"Edel?!"

The girl hurries over to the others, only to stop short when she sees who's in the door. Her head tilts to the side at the blonde, shapely woman before them.

"Qua-mmfh?!"

"My little Ahiru!" the woman coos, embracing the bemused hostess and accidentally near-suffocating her with her boa and cleavage. "Congratulations, sweetheart! I can't believe you and Mytho are getting married!"

Ahiru's brain stumbles over the words. Fortunately, she manages to keep her ever-growing confusion contained long enough to realize that she is likely dreaming. Mytho and Rue departed for the land of fairy tale ages ago. There's no way he's about to leave Rue, come back here, and get engaged to her. Edel being so un-Edel-like only backed up that theory.

Edel lets Ahiru go and holds a bag out to her.

"I brought you a special something for the occasion," the buxom woman tells her.

"Oh thank you!" Ahiru says, deciding to go with the flow for now. "I'm sure I'll love it!"

She glances in the bag to find a wrapped...something. She excitedly pulls it out and rips off the wrappings, revealing...

Well, revealing something that made Mytho and Ahiru turn quite red.

"Wh-wh-what's this?" Ahiru stammers out, though she already had some idea.

"A vibrator, sweetheart," Edel answers shamelessly.

Ahiru is really starting to regret letting Lillie drag her into this performance.

"Edel," Mytho begins. "Thank you for your...consideration. But I'm afraid Ahiru and I don't appreciate your gift. I'm sorry."

"Is that so?" Edel asks. "Maybe you should let Ahiru speak for herself. After all, that is _her_ gift."

Mytho gestures to Edel and goes, "Tell her, Ahiru. We're just fine together, aren't we?"

Ahiru stands there stammering, the incriminating vibrator sitting in her hand.

"That is enough," Mytho says, taking the vibrator out of her hand and tossing it across the room. It rolls with a continuous clatter and hits the wall with a loud clack, the bottom coming loose and a couple of batteries sliding out.

"Well, if that's the way you're going to be, maybe Ahiru would be better off with _that_ for company," Edel spits out, pointing at the vibrator.

Ahiru watches as the fight goes on, more guests pouring in and fanning the flames of embarrassment. She sits down beside the tree, unsure of what to do.

Then everything is darkness.

Two spotlights come to life and the living room they were in is replaced by a stage. In one stands Mytho, holding a sword and wearing a gaudy Christmas sweater. In the other stands Fakir, also armed with a sword but wearing a simple black leotard.

"You are not welcome here!" Mytho shouts.

"We all could have been happy together if you had just given me a chance," Fakir retorts.

They clash together, the lights coming up to reveal an army on each side. One was clothed in more bad Christmas sweaters while the other wore a variety of costumes: maid outfits, leather trousers and skirts, lace undergarments, and other fetish gear.

The battle unfolds before Ahiru. Pique and Anteaterina rush by her to take the injured of Fakir's side away while Lillie leads the troops. Neko-Sensei leads Mytho's troops, wriggling in his sweater.

And in a flash, the stage goes dark once more. Two spotlights come on again, but this time one comes on the victorious Fakir and the other on the slightly stunned Ahiru. They stand alone on the stage, his back to her as he tosses away his sword. He turns to face her, his lips not smiling but his eyes faintly gleaming with wicked mirth. Fakir steps closer and she can feel herself stepping towards him, though not propelled by the same force driving him.

"Fakir?" she asks.

He steps directly in front of her and bows. With a grasp of her hand, his lips brush over her knuckles in a slow, staying kiss. When he stands up straight again, he tugs her just a little bit closer. His other hand takes her chin, brushing his thumb across her lips. She lets out a small gasp at the action. He leans towards her and her eyes flutter shut as he presses a warm, wet kiss to the top of her cheek.

"Ah..."

Fakir cranes his head lower at Ahiru's approving sigh, letting go of her chin and nibbling at her neck. Her hands instinctively wind around his neck and he pulls her into his arms.

"Ahiru," he finally murmurs, his hands smoothing over her back and causing her to shiver. "You deserve to be happy. And I don't know if Mytho can do that for you."

"Hmm?" she hums, unable to concentrate as his hands and lips work their magic.

One hand trails down to run up her thigh, toying with the hem of her simple dress and sneaking underneath. Her breath hitches.

"Trust me, I'll never leave you wanting," he assures her, lifting her leg up against him.

* * *

Ahiru wakes up with her sheets rumpled over her. One leg was curled up and resting over the other and her neck was arched back as if still receiving Fakir's phantom attentions. She smooths her hand over her collarbone, relieved yet a little disappointed that her dream was just that.

* * *

Aura's Notes: Now that we're starting to get into the actual meat of the story, I feel like I have stuff I can talk about. The whole idea for this story came about when I learned there was a burlesque version of The Nutcracker, which I was fortunate enough to see this holiday season. Dreamicide and I had been batting around ideas and getting story down long before I saw the show and, though they're very different beasts, I like what we've done and don't feel the need to go and make the story exactly like the show.

For Dreamicide's thoughts on this story and other things, please check out her tumblr mildmilotic.


	3. Act I: The Edge of the Land of Fantasy

Act I: The Edge of the Land of Fantasy

The morning after starts off normal for the most part, save the fact that Ahiru's mind is more susceptible to floating off than usual. Her thoughts flutter back to the dream-to Mytho, to that strange woman who called herself Edel, to Fakir-

As if summoned by her wayward musings, Fakir sits down at the table in front of her, sipping his black coffee. Ahiru doesn't realize she's squeaked until his eyes roll up to glance at her.

"Something wrong?"

"No, nothing!" She waves a hand, her cheeks pink. It's hard to look him in the eyes after receiving those dream kisses the night before, even arching into his touch and wanting more. Since when did she think things like that? It's almost a little alarming to her.

Fakir doesn't push things and instead shrugs. The rest of their breakfast consists of idle questions and casual conversation, asking if she's ready for rehearsal and if she's thoroughly practiced that one piece of choreography she's been stumbling on for the past few days.

* * *

It's still difficult to concentrate on anything during class as their teacher gives the class their morning lecture. Ahiru sits with her legs tucked to her chest with Pique cross-legged next to her. Her eyes are directed towards the teacher but they aren't really looking at him and digesting his words.

She's still trying to process the dream from the night before. And it only dawns on her hours after leaving the house that it's a familiar story. A gift to a young woman turns into a man and a battle ensues. It's like _The Nutcracker_, right?

Except it couldn't be any more different.

Ahiru swallows thickly as she recalls the _other _rehearsals she's been attending during the night. To save Lillie from her plight, Ahiru agreed to take on a small side role to an obscure show on the other side of town. 'Burlesque,' she had called it, not sensing Ahiru's clear confusion as to what that word meant. And in the spirit of _The Nutcracker_.

But nothing could compare to what Ahiru witnessed that first night of rehearsals.

She stayed at the sidelines as an unnamed couple received a gift from their aunt, clearly offended by it. A 'vibrator,' the woman called it, though Ahiru was hard-pressed to identify exactly what that was, as well. After thinking about it, Ahiru concludes that the object was the replacement for the nutcracker in this specific production. Because then the vibrator becomes a man, he duels with the other man, and-

Ahiru's face abruptly turns a shade of scarlet as the memories return.

"And that's _The Slutcracker_!" she remembers Lillie chirping proudly at the end of the first rehearsal.

And she can't help but compare it to the events of her dream. The dream in which she replaced those characters with people she knew.

As the teacher called out for them to begin the rehearsal and find their positions, Ahiru shakes her head to rid the thoughts. Maybe it's just a one time thing. She used to have crazy dreams all the time, after all.


	4. Act I: Pas de Deux

Act I: Pas de Deux

Ahiru stands in the corner of the large practice room as rehearsal ends, everyone sweating and laughing as they begin to single file out into the locker rooms. She smiles and bids everyone goodbye as they pass her, hoping that her smile can conceal just how nervous she feels for the part. One of her leg warmers slides down her tights as she tries to flatten some loose hair and tuck them underneath her yellow headband. Eventually the choreographer leaves, and she's left all alone in the large bright room.

Sighing, Ahiru finds herself glancing over toward one of the mirrors and studies her reflection. Maybe she's grown a little, but she still looks gangly and awkward and…not at all Clara-like. Can she really do this? She was even messing up a lot in practice earlier, and she could tell a lot of the other members looked at her funny. Maybe it really is too soon for her to think that she could have possibly received the part from pure talent.

Suddenly she sees a dark reflection standing in the mirror, and she stands up straight with a surprised squeak. Ahiru didn't even realize that Fakir hadn't left practice yet. He's standing in the other corner, watching her with his arms crossed.

Turning to look at him directly instead of through a mirror, Ahiru gives a nervous laugh. "Ah… all done for today, huh?"

At first he says nothing, eyeing her carefully. Then he shakes his head and pushes himself from leaning against the wall and begins to head on over toward her. Ahiru feels herself stiffen.

"You were a complete mess today," he states bluntly. "I don't know what's going on, but I know you can dance better than that."

Feeling her heart sink a little, Ahiru glances away, suddenly not wanting to look at him. It's really unfair to him, isn't it? He makes a much better Nutcracker Prince than she makes a Clara. He doesn't need someone like her as a partner. "No, it's… not really like that. Not at all! I just—"

"Come on." When Ahiru turns her head back to him, he's standing a few feet away from her, one arm positioned behind him, legs and feet poised, and one hand outstretched to her invitingly.

Ahiru recognizes it as the first position to the _pas de deux_ between the Nutcracker Prince and Clara. "I'll show you that you're better than that."

Rehearsal that day mostly included the beginning parts, where Clara first found herself in another magical world. They didn't use any of their time for the partner dances. So what did Fakir mean to do? Ahiru knows that she can only seemingly dance well when she has a good partner; it's dancing by _herself_ that is the problem.

Nonetheless, she tries to lift herself into position, attempting to look dainty. "…Okay," she mumbles a little shyly. She offers her hand in return.

With that, Fakir steps forward and begins the dance. He gently takes her hand and bends down in a bow, lowering his head until he appears to give her fingers a princely kiss. It causes Ahiru to freeze for a moment as the flashbacks from her dream the night before fill her mind. That was—he did something like that—no, _Fakir_ didn't do anything, just the one from her dream! They were two completely different—!

Against her better judgment, Ahiru flushes. But she still finds it in herself to lift on her toes and step closer, before he draws her by the arm and stands tall.

She doesn't even need the music playing in the background. She can hear every chord, every phrase, screaming loudly in her ears as Fakir leads her in the _pas de deux_. They circle around the room as if presenting for an audience, before their arms lift above their heads and they stand tall. Ahiru curtsies.

Her movements are still awkward and not skilled enough to be called Clara. But even so, Fakir doesn't comment on it. He takes his hands and places them on her waist which garners a small gasp out of her while he lifts her up in the air. Ahiru tries to concentrate on being graceful and dainty and everything Clara should be—but all she can remember is the way Fakir's hands gripped at her hips in a similar way in her dreams. Sliding down her waist, rubbing sensually over and in between her thighs, urging her to spread her legs and welcome him. And she _did_ spread them. Ahiru didn't even have to think about it twice in her dreams as she gave Fakir permission to continue touching her, his chest against her back and breathing hotly at her ear. She remembers the way his fingers inched closer and the way her hips subtly drew upward because she _wanted_ him to and—

"Ahiru."

"QUA—!"

Back down to reality, Ahiru abruptly jumps and Fakir manages to hold tight to her shoulders before she could fall. He gives her a quizzical look. "You started breathing heavily. What's wrong?"

"N-Nothing!" she squeaks. "Nothing at all, I was just—I'm still a little tired from practice today! Ahahaha…."

Fakir lifts one brow, studying her with scrutinizing eyes as if waiting for her to give him a proper explanation for her behavior. Instead, Ahiru can only meet his green eyes and blush even _more_ upon the way that color also haunted her dreams. One of the clearest parts of her dream last night includes the way he crawled down her form, staring at her with dark eyes as he kissed down her belly. And the things he whispered, talking about how he can make her feel so good, make her toes curl and body shake….

She really needs to stop thinking about this.

Shaking her head violently, Ahiru suddenly pushes herself away from Fakir and dashes off to the door, heading to the women's locker room. "I'm sorry! I'll practice later I'mjustreallytiredrightnow!"

Fakir is left standing in the middle of the room, hands still in position, and completely confused.

* * *

Ahiru erratically gasps, trying to muffle it some by biting her lower lip, as Fakir trails his fingers from his grasp on her ankles down her legs. Her fingers clutch in the bedsheets beneath her and she hooks her legs onto his arms. She's almost breathless, giggling as his touch tickles the underside of her thighs. And then he leans his head down to her body, his hands raising the skirt of her nightgown and exposing her abdomen. He flicks his tongue in her navel, causing her to cry out before his teeth gently graze against her soft skin and move lower to tug her lacy panties over her thighs. She raises herself up on her arms as best she can but Fakir stops her, pushing her back down with his mouth on top of hers.

"Fakir..." she gets out when her mouth is free again, gasping again as he takes hold of her hips.

Her panties are gone, though Ahiru doesn't know or care how that happened. Her heels rub against his back as he kisses the lower part of her belly again.

"Keep going," she urges on, shifting her hips in his hands.

Ahiru can feel Fakir smiling against her skin, warm breath and green eyes driving her mad as he murmurs his intentions to her. And then she finally feels him move down lower, mouth working over her.

"Ah-!"

She instinctively bucks her hips and tries to move her legs further apart, moaning and panting. One of her hands moves down and tangles in his hair, keeping him in place. His name falls from her lips again and again as she arches her back, feeling herself getting closer and closer to the brink.

* * *

It was the first time Ahiru's voice woke herself up. She struggles to catch her breath, body convulsing and mind reeling from her dream. Her legs, spread and propped up, fall back to the bed. The sheets and her nightgown are bunched up at her middle and her hand is down her panties. She reluctantly removes her hand and wipes some sweat from her forehead with the back. Her cheeks tint pink in frustration and embarrassment. It seems like the more she understands, the worse the dreams get.

Now how is she going to face Fakir today?


	5. Act II: Dance of the Reed Pole

Act II: Dance of the Reed Pole

Ballet students are no strangers to feats of physical strength and flexibility. All the same, Ahiru wasn't prepared for this display.

A pole stands at the center of the stage. A loveseat is nearby, clearly intended for Ahiru and Fakir and the latter already seated. Once she joins him, he doesn't hesitate to pull her legs across his lap. She giggles as he reaches around to tug her closer by the waist, his other hand caressing her knees.

"What are we watching?" she asks.

"A private exhibition," he whispers into her ear.

Hermia joins them on the stage, her hand curving around the pole with a firm grasp. She gives a bow before stepping around and hooking her leg onto the pole. She gracefully arches her back, leaving the ground completely and extending her leg. She spins around, propelled by some unseen force. With both hands on the pole, Hermia leans back upside down, her legs spread eagle. She hooks both of her feet around the pole again and her hands let go, suspended only by the hold of her ankles. Then, in a move that made Ahiru gasp, Hermia unhooks one foot and extends it in an upside down arabesque. She slowly corkscrews around the pole, her pose never wavering.

Ahiru's legs stretch over Fakir's lap. He gently holds one of her ankles and lifts her foot, her toes pointing out.

"I wish I was that flexible," Ahiru laments.

But she doesn't spend much time dwelling on it as the thought is followed by an appreciative sigh. Fakir leans down and kisses the top of her foot, working down to leave a trail of kisses on her leg. The rest of the dream turns into a pleasurable white haze, leaving only his touch against her skin before she wakes.

* * *

Aura's Notes: It's time to have a nice, leisurely trip in the land of fantasies of a different sort. Just as the story isn't going to be exactly the same as The Slutcracker, these sequences won't be in the same order they happen in Act II.

As always, check out Dreamicide's thoughts on her tumblr mildmilotic.


	6. Act II: Trepak

Act II: Trepak

Ahiru was starting to get used to the spotlight flickering on in her dreams. But featuring only girls at first was something new.

Lillie and Pique stand back to back, barely covered by what looked to be black, low-cut leotards. Lillie has a whip held taut between her hands and Pique is tapping her shoulder with a riding crop. Ahiru doesn't know what to make of it, which only got worse when each girl tugged until-now unseen leashes that brought a pair of blindfolded boys in nothing but boxers into the spotlight with them.

"What exquisite punishment!" Femio moans as Lillie cracks the whip above him.

"Aw, but you're such a _good_ boy~!" Lillie coos, reaching down to cup his chin, clutching tight enough for her nails to leave marks. "You only need a _little_ correction."

"As for you," Pique says, putting a foot on Autor's back. "You spend so much time in your books. What you need is a bit of experience."

Autor doesn't respond with words but lets out a sharp gasp when Pique digs in her heel. His gasp earns him a swat from the riding crop.

Ahiru turns to look at Fakir and asks, "What is this about again?"

"That's just how they enjoy each others' company," he answers simply, giving her half a shrug.

The rest fades from her memory as she wakes up. The whole thing was so strange that a full week went by before she had any other dreams about the land of fantasies of a different sort.


	7. Act II: Polichinelle

Act II: Polichinelle

"A clown..."

"Hmmm?" Ahiru hums from her spot next to Fakir on the loveseat, watching the back of the girl in white standing in the spotlight.

"We're all wearing our inner clowns today."

She adjusts her black mask before turning around, revealing a ridiculously phallic nose. When she does, the lights go up and the rest of the theater class can be seen in a line, all dressed in the same white outfits and black, phallic masks.

The two next to the first girl reach for her, one taking her ankles and the other her wrists. Once suspended, the one holding her ankles pulls them apart and cranes her head down. The first clown girl arches in the hold just as two more clowns hunch down. But this time, they part the legs of the two holding the girl and reach up with their noses. Then the next two clowns pull those two up like wheelbarrows and continue the chain.

Ahiru clenches her hand in Fakir's leotard, watching as the clowns writhe and shake in pleasure. She squeaks when she feels Fakir return the gesture, clutching her nightgown near her hip.

"Well," he murmurs by her ear. "Interested in joining in?"

"I dunno," she replies, voice airy.

Just then, a vigorous toss of someone's head lost in the throes of ecstasy throws a mask their way. Fakir easily catches it with his free hand.

"I'd call this invitation, wouldn't you?"

"Well maybe..." Ahiru agrees.

Fakir pulls the mask on, making Ahiru laugh as he adjusts the nose, his fingers suggestively curled around the length. But that laughing soon turned into a pleased gasp as he pulls her by the legs and leans his head down.

* * *

It was too early in the morning. Ahiru is never up this early, not in all the time Fakir's ever known her. But there's no mistaking that sound. She's awake. She must be. How else could she be laughing so much?

So he raps on her door on his way past, wondering what's so funny and why she just made such a strange, choking gasp.

"We might as well get going if you're up already, moron," he says.

And Fakir goes on his way again, unaware that Ahiru was pouting at the interruption.


	8. Act II: Waltz of the Wet Spot Fairy

Act II: Waltz of the Wet Spot Fairy

Ballerina after ballerina gracefully drifts across the stage, moving in a circle as if dancing around a maypole. One twirl sets the next into motion, eventually causing a wave of sways and pleased sighs. There's so much movement that Ahiru almost misses Freya in the center. And just like a maypole or, more accurately, like the center of a flower, everyone is connected to Freya.

One by one, the petals lower down to the floor with a skillful roll of each lithe body. They kneel, legs spread, as Freya lowers herself down with them. Then they all inch closer together, touching and grasping, rubbing and grinding against each other. The chorus of gasps, moans, and cries of ecstasy grow stronger and louder as they climb on top of each other. No skin is exposed without being kissed or fondled in the choreographed orgy.

And then, each petal breaks off at her release. Spent, they all lie on the stage catching their breaths.

"Fakir, let go of me," Ahiru murmurs distractedly, still watching Freya and the petals.

"You're touching yourself," he tells her.

And she glances down to see that he's right, her own hand absently smoothing over the inside of her thigh.

"Didn't think you were like that," Fakir whispers into her ear, hot breath causing her to flush pink.

"I...I mean it was...I've never seen anything like that before," she explains.

"Hmm..." he hums to her before nibbling on her ear, making her gasp. "Are you sure you don't want me to touch you?"

"Uh...um...ah-!" she stutters as he gives her a suckling kiss on her neck, his fingers tracing her collarbone.

And any permission or denial was missed, as Ahiru finds she tends to wake up at the best parts.


	9. Act II: Dance of the Sugar Dish Fairy

Act II: Dance of the Sugar Dish Fairy

The familiar strains of the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy filled Ahiru's ears as Rue took the stage. Ahiru knew her dearest friend was beautiful but this...

Rue carefully moves on her toes, her tutu unusually stiff and black and her hair in its customary bun. Precise and graceful as always. She was so captivating that it took a moment for the girl to realize Fakir was still by her side.

And then, during a series of pirouettes, Rue gently frees her hair from its bun. The flowing locks draw Ahiru's attention once again as the expert ballerina steps closer to the couple, tugging at the fingers of her gloves with her teeth. The closer she gets, the easier it is to see the zipper on the side of her tutu. A flick of her now-bare wrist and it's open. Rue dances away again, teasingly taking her time to actually remove the tutu and expose her barely-there panties.

With every step Rue takes away, Fakir's hand snakes around Ahiru above her waist, pulling her closer. It doesn't take her eyes off of the ballerina's body, however, as Rue continues her en pointe striptease.

A partially-clothed arm goes in the air and comes down again. She shrugs out of half of a sort of bolero. She reaches and slowly pulls the bolero down her opposite arm before tossing it aside, fully revealing her balconette brassiere. Rue then gradually unhooks a series of hook and eye closures at the side of her corset. Once they're all undone, she alternates exposing and covering her pale flesh before the corset, too, is cast away.

Ahiru quietly moans in her throat, both from the show and from Fakir gently grasping her breast.

* * *

Fakir isn't entirely sure how Ahiru managed to drag herself to her bedroom to change into her nightgown only to come back and fall asleep on the sofa. He knew the girl was working herself to exhaustion, though on what he didn't know. Besides _The Nutcracker_, what could be taking up so much of her time?

He hears her moan in her sleep and briefly wonders if the stress of whatever's keeping her so occupied is depriving her of peaceful slumber.

* * *

Rue's back is to the couple as she works on the fastener at the front of her bra. She holds it up to her as she turns around again before it joins her pile of discarded coverings. Her breasts bounce with her final steps as the dance ends. She takes a bow with one lingering look at Ahiru, her smile pleasant lust.

Fakir leans closer to her, murmuring something about going to bed as his hand continues to fondle Ahiru's chest. He pauses for a moment to scoop her up. The redhead is so small curled up against his chest that he resumes his groping without effort. His attentions draw another moan from her mouth. Ahiru leans her head up to his neck, pressing kisses against his skin.

* * *

"Honestly, you need to learn how to sleep in your own bed," Fakir grumbles as he lifts up his sleeping companion and carries her to her room.

When Ahiru moans again, he stops in his steps, wondering if he woke her up. The random stretching against him doesn't help. And just for a moment, he could swear he saw some strange movement underneath her nightgown just out of the corner of his eye.

What in the world is she dreaming about?

* * *

The bed is getting closer and Ahiru rubs her thighs together in anticipation of what's to come. Fakir gives her another squeeze as he lets out a pleased little gasp at her movement. He begins to lower her to the bed...

* * *

It's when Ahiru's legs wriggle just as Fakir is about to put her to bed that causes him to pause and look over her completely. He does his best to think about how they should probably get Ahiru some longer nightgowns and not about how her panties are in plain view.. But then he sees her nightgown is bunched up around her arm, her hand underneath it as she...

Fakir realizes with a sharp intake of breath that the movement he saw before was Ahiru fondling her breast. The shock hits him so hard that he drops the girl onto the bed, her head crashing into the headboard.

"Owwwwwww," she whines, half awake. "Let's just go to sleep now, Fakir. I don't wanna anymore..."

Ahiru flops onto her side and goes back to sleep. Fakir remembers his feet and bolts out of the room.


	10. Act II: Chocolate

Act II: Chocolate

This is the wrong dress rehearsal.

It has to be. Why else would there be people disrobing each other on the stage while performing the tango? Never mind that the music is in fact from _The Nutcracker_. This...this debauchery couldn't be Ahiru's _other_ rehearsal. He must have heard wrong. This is a mistake.

Or at least, that's what Fakir thought until a blur of red and black tackled him in a surprisingly tight grasp and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before dashing away as suddenly as the blur had arrived.

His eyes were not deceiving him, much as his mind fought about whether he wanted them to or not. That was Ahiru in a maid outfit. This is further confirmed when another member of the cast closer to the stage calls out to her.

"Ahiru!" she shouts. "Are you coming or just breathing hard?"

Ahiru practically squeaks as she rushes down.

"Hey! Don't forget to practice!" the castmate calls again.

At her prompting, Ahiru scans the aisle seats on her way and begins hugging and kissing whomever she finds the same way she hugged and kissed Fakir. He couldn't entirely contain a strange, strangled sound that loosed itself from his throat when some of these people were hugging and kissing her back.

There's nothing else to do. They're going.

Fakir follows Ahiru down the aisle and grabs her by her wrist.

"Huh?!" she lets out, whipping her her head around. "F-F-Fakir?! What are you doing here?"

Ahiru thought her imagination was exceptionally good when she tackled him. It was such a strange job, going out and "fluffing" the audience, as the director had put it. Go out and kiss random strangers? Hug them? Dance directly in front of them? Touch them in the same strange places she's been dreaming about? She never knew there was such dancing that included the audience so...intimately.

The only way should could approach these people so boldly, much less hug and kiss them, was by picturing her friends in their place. It took some getting used to, the idea of kissing Mytho, Rue, Edel, and particularly Fakir. But after a time or two practicing, the task turned from a chore to a thrill, especially when her almost-chaste affections were reciprocated. The realization that it was more than her imagination and she really _did_ hug and kiss Fakir caused her eyes to widen and her face to turn a deeper and deeper red.

And now he was dragging her out of the auditorium, which sort of thrilled her. But at the same time, she has to practice...

"We're leaving, moron," he grumbles.

"Wha-? But we're in the middle of the dress rehearsal," she protests.

"We're _leaving_," he repeats, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Ahiru turns to her befuddled castmates and says, "I'm sorry but I guess I gotta go!"

On their way out, Fakir sneers as he hears a couple of girls snickering and whispering.

"That must be him. The guy Ahiru's shacked up with but not _shacked up_ with, know what I mean?"

"Oh god, the tension must be hell."

"I don't know how he can stand it."

"Him? I don't know how _Ahiru_ can stand it."

Fakir didn't hear any further comments and didn't want to. It wasn't any of their business. And it looked like that was something he needed to make clear to Ahiru.

* * *

It seemed like it took forever, but Ahiru and Fakir finally made it home, his hand firmly around her wrist the entire way. She had to fight the overwhelming surge of desire that unexpectedly came with how perfectly her wrist fits in his hold, better than her dreams ever imagined. It took all of her strength to not vocalize her disappointment when he finally let go.

"What in the world were you doing there, Ahiru?" he finally demands.

"Ah-" she tries, looking for an appropriate voice. "Ah, practicing."

"I could see that. But why are you practicing in that- that filthy performance?"

" 'Cause...'cause...'cause Lillie got the part for me!"

"Lillie?"

"Uh...uh-huh. She said she needed someone else in the production and that I should help her with her plight."

Fakir pinches the bridge of his nose. He should have known.

"And you just agreed to it? You just let yourself get dragged along? You really are ridiculous, idiot. No wonder you haven't been able to concentrate on _The Nutcracker_..."

He went on a bit more, mainly about how this additional performance is affecting her and the rumors he heard as they left, but there was so little space between them that Ahiru was having trouble thinking straight. Her mind was swimming in their combined heat, his green eyes boring into her, and the way his voice hit her ear. Part of her wished for boldness so that she could just close the small distance between them and stop his mouth with hers.

But then he said, "You should drop out."

"What?! But I can't!" she automatically protests, snapping out of reverie.

"Why not?"

" 'Cause...'cause I already told Lillie that I would and we're already in dress rehearsals and- and Fakir, I can't just _leave_! You just- you don't understand!"

Fakir lets out a frustrated sigh and it sounds so much like something else that Ahiru can't entirely hide the shudder that runs up her spine. He stays quiet for a moment, wondering if he accidentally frightened her by being too harsh. She really is easy to influence, isn't she? It probably isn't entirely her fault. Though he's not sure why she can't just let it go.

"Go get changed," he says, dropping it for the moment. They can resume the discussion when she's not dressed as a maid.

* * *

"You just don't understand!" Ahiru tells Fakir for what must have been the millionth time over the last few days.

"You're right," Fakir says, practically sneering. "I _don't_ understand why you can't just quit."

"It won't change things now! Leaving's not gonna make me a better Clara or make me any less stressed out or make the dreams go away so you might as well just stop it, Fakir!"

"Dreams?"

"Qua-!" Ahiru covers her mouth as Fakir regards her with a raised eyebrow.

"What dreams?"

The longer he stares, the deeper the blush on her face grows.

"Oh good lord, Ahiru," he grumbles, putting his hand to his face. "You're having dreams about that...that debauchery."

Thankfully, he's able to cover his own blushing with the gesture. Just the very idea that Ahiru would have dreams about- about _that_...

But then, as if something sparked right there in Ahiru's mind, her own eyes narrow and she drops her hands to her sides, balling them into fists.

"It's not like I can help it anymore! And when you're like this it makes me wonder why so many of them are about you!"

That anger-fueled confession makes Fakir jolt up, his hand dropping away from his face and mouth agape.

"Ahi- you- what?!"

Ahiru puts her fists on her hips, not even letting herself feel embarrassed or selfish anymore when she can be mad and frustrated at Fakir. Fakir wasn't sure what he was feeling, as that seemed to require thought and his mind wouldn't slow down enough to let him think. Everything fits together now: the rumors, the noises, why his name would come up in her sleep for no apparent reason, how she would tense up and breathe heavier whenever he touched her...

No, he has to get out of there. Get out of there and think of this somewhere without her, lest he get caught up in his memory of her breathing or her reactions to his touch or carrying her to her bed while she was fondling her-

No no no no no no no, got to get out.

He stumbles away with a complete lack of his usual grace, runs into the dining table with his back, and manages to find enough presence of mind to maneuver around and dash out. Once he's gone, Ahiru drops her hands from her hips and sighs. _Now_ she allows herself to be embarrassed. She would just go and say all that stuff to Fakir and make him run away because he just- he wouldn't want to- and now he probably won't even want to _dance_ with her anymore. That very thought gave her a strange, hollow ache.

Sometimes she really is an idiot.

* * *

Fakir has never been one for ballroom dance. It doesn't call for the same level of skill, the same finesse. And yet here he is, dancing the lead of a tango partnered with-

"Ahiru? What are we doing?"

She doesn't say anything during their dance, simply following the smooth steps. Her hand passes from the light touch on his shoulder to trace soft fingertips against his neck. His breath hitches just as she loosens his tie.

But just as Ahiru removes the tie completely, she leaves his hold. Fakir reaches out but his hand is snatched away. He turns in annoyed surprise, his frown deepening as he finds himself in Rue's arms. Her smile is one of cruel amusement as she steals the lead, the ballerina bending the danseur over her arm in a dangerously low dip.

"What's going on, Rue?" he growls, pissed.

"Think of it as a party," she answers before righting him.

"A party?"

"Mm-hmm," she hums, forcing him to move back with every sliding step forward and her hand snaking beneath his jacket. "And a party's no fun if you're stuck with one person all night. You have to mingle."

Rue shoves into his back, pushing him into a turn and taking his jacket off in the same motion. This is when Fakir sees the others dancing, switching from partner to partner. His eyes search until he finds Ahiru in Autor's arms of all people. And when he sees the musician idly snap the strap of the redhead's dress before tugging it down over her shoulder, dread washes over him at the realization that he's not the only one being stripped. Hearing the duck-turned-girl cry out only solidifies that fear in his belly.

"Ahiru-!" Fakir calls, reaching again only for another hand to grasp his.

He has the lead again but this time his partner is Mytho.

"Fakir," the prince says, leaning into his knight-turned-writer and curling a leg against his waist. "You're not enjoying the dance like the others."

And just like that, Fakir goes from irritated to embarrassed, jaw dropping and face flushing crimson.

"I'm not the only one!" he protests, moving away from Mytho's weight on him. "You're just going along with this while Ahiru needs help?"

"But she likes it, too," Mytho says, gentle touch deceptively ripping Fakir's vest open.

"No she doesn't!" Fakir argues, backing away again. "Can't you hear her calling for help?"

"I hear her," he states, walking in a circle around Fakir and taking the vest off the writer's shoulders. "But she's not calling for help."

Fakir has a moment before he's pulled back, and in that time he sees that girl... That one that has a crush on him, one of Ahiru's friends. What was- Pique! That's right, Pique. And she was looking towards him with a Cheshire Cat grin just as her fingers brush against Ahiru's hip and pull at her skirt. Ahiru cries out again but it's clear from the smile on her face and the way she arches into Pique's touch that Mytho was right.

"No..."

As if in response, Ahiru squeaks out, "Yes-!" as the others close in on her.

He can't see who's holding him but he can feel all four limbs being held back by clawing grasps into his clothes. Ahiru's focus is on the attention she's receiving from their partners in the dance, moaning in ecstasy while oblivious about Fakir's predicament. He watches, helpless as they shred the remainder of her clothes and openly kiss and caress her bare skin. Seeing her like that fuels a fire in Fakir, flaring up with indignation, jealousy, and desire all at the same time.

And then, just when he couldn't be sure which emotion would come out on top, Ahiru raises an arm up and a new hand reaches out from the darkness to grab her wrist. Another hand comes to possessively wrap around her, fingers splaying over her chest and winning him a desperate gasp.

Fakir wakes with a start just as he sees himself grinning wickedly over Ahiru's shoulder.


	11. Act II: The Reconciliation

Act II: The Reconciliation

"It's really been frustrating," Ahiru whines. "And now he's prob'ly gonna hate me forever."

"I don't think anyone can hate you, much less forever," Ebine says, putting a hand on the girl's shoulder as Ahiru sprawled out over one of the tables.

It was a strange friendship, one filled with a certain deja vu. But the chef couldn't deny that the young girl who often came to visit her restaurant was welcome company. Curious conversations and occasional cooking lessons turned acquaintances into practically family. Once Ahiru received the news that she was dancing the part of Clara, Ebine was one of the first promised a ticket to opening night.

"Fakir hated me before," the girl admits. "I bet he can again. And we still have to dance together in _The Nutcracker_. I bet he never wants to dance with me again."

Ebine sits down next to the ballerina, brushing some flour off of her apron.

"Oh Ahiru, you're overreacting. And he's probably unsure of what to do, especially since you told him you've been dreaming about him."

Ahiru blushes, her mind going over the details she left out when relating her dreams to the chef next to her.

"Maybe you just need to give him some time," Ebine suggests. "Maybe you both just need some time."

"But what if-?" Ahiru begins.

What if Fakir really doesn't want to dance with her anymore? What if Fakir does hate her again? What if he kicks her out of the house? What if the dreams keep going even after that?

"Ahiru," the chef firmly says. "At this point, all you can really do is take some time to calm down and then try talking to him again. You'll never find out what he really thinks unless you do."

The duck-turned-girl sighs, knowing her friend was right.

"Why don't you bring something from here to help get things started?" Ebine offers. "A peace offering. I've got some lebkuchens that I want you to try."

* * *

Something felt backwards.

Usually when an argument happens, it's the boy buying sweets for the girl. But Ahiru was the one who provided the rocking horse shaped cookies sitting between her and Fakir. She hoped it would at least get them talking after the fight and ensuing silence, but that hasn't happened yet, not even a question about why she got him the cookies or how it's often the other way around.

It was making Ahiru's stomach turn. Her worst fear was being realised; Fakir must not want to dance with her at all anymore. And it didn't look like she could do anything about it at this point, which only compresses the knots of her insides tighter together.

Eventually she musters up the courage to speak, but only to say, "I'll just go."

"Wait."

Fakir manages to stop her departure with that one word, though he's at a loss on how to continue.

"Why?" she asks when she turns back to him. "So we can sit here and not talk?"

"What am I supposed to say?" he asks back.

"That...that you just don't wanna dance with me anymore so you can go ahead and get it over with," Ahiru rattles off, her fingers curling, clenching, and uncurling in her palms.

If there was any anger left in Fakir's features, that confession clears the rest of it away.

"That's not true."

"It's not?"

"Of course not. Look," Fakir begins, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment. "Even if I don't like something, you're the one making your own choices. Not liking one thing you do doesn't mean hating you."

Ahiru watches as he finally turns to face her, blush tinting his cheeks. And the very idea of what's causing him to turn red makes her flush in embarrassment in turn.

"So I can be in Lillie's show?"

"I don't want you to be in there," he affirms once more. "But I can't stop you, you don't want to drop out, and fighting about it's only causing more stress. So I'm done fighting about it." When that doesn't seem to assure Ahiru, he adds, "I'll help you with _The Nutcracker_, so stop worrying."

She finally does let out a small sigh of relief, the jumbled mess of her insides not feeling quite so cramped anymore.

"And thank you," Fakir says right before she leaves. "For the cookies, I mean."


	12. Act II: Finale

Act II: Finale

It was all finally over. The curtain had fallen on the final Christmas Eve performances of both productions. It was time for everyone to take a well-earned rest. Ahiru was so exhausted she hadn't even bothered to change out of her maid outfit.

"Are you going to wear that all night?" Fakir asks.

"I don't wanna pick up clothes ever again," Ahiru whines from the sofa, rubbing one of her fishnet-clad feet. "I'll sleep in this for the rest of my life if I have to."

"You decided you wanted to stay in that production," he says, holding a steaming mug of cocoa within her reach and trying not to steal a glance at her legs.

"And I'm still glad I did," she responds, taking the mug and sticking her tongue out at him. "It was weird but fun."

"Now you're just being stubborn, moron."

Fakir sits down next to her and Ahiru nudges his knee with the ball of her foot. It was kind of nice to know he wouldn't tug her legs over his lap the way her dreams would sometimes go. (Though that would be kind of nice, too.)

"Stubborn's the only way that works with you," she argues.

He hums in something that was not quite defeat or agreement. It certainly wasn't the first time he's heard that. She drowsily leans against him, causing him to tense. It's a bit before he can finally relax some at her touch.

It was perfect until Ahiru drifted off to sleep and spilled her remaining cocoa on him. At least it had cooled by then.

"Moron," he grumbles, stuck for an awkward evening.

* * *

"Mytho?"

It isn't the first time Ahiru's dream began in the middle of things, but to see Mytho beneath her on the bed...

"Oh Ahiru," the Prince moans, grasping her hips and jerking up into her.

She gasps in response, still trying to figure things out in her pleasure-addled mind. Something is off, something besides Mytho, and it just wasn't registering.

At least, until she realizes that there were hands not just on her hips but her chest as well. A kiss to the back of her neck and suddenly things made sense again. Her head lolls back as Fakir presses to her from behind. Mytho's hands slip to hold her rear. Ahiru cries out when Fakir trails one of his hands down her stomach, fingers meeting at the connection point. Her hands press into the mattress as she moves, arms shaking as Fakir moves his erection against her backside.

* * *

Ahiru wakes with a yelp, fingers clutching in her sheets. She catches her breath from the shock of her dream. Her hands go to her face, palms pressing into her eyes.

"I thought these were over," she moans to herself.

* * *

Aura's Notes: You thought there was no more Whatcracker but guess what there's Whatcracker! And despite the title of this chapter, things aren't over quite yet. Dreamicide and I are at work cooking up the only suitable ending we can think of. But we couldn't resist putting in the actual conflict resolution of The Slutcracker. As always, check out Dreamicide's thoughts on her tumblr, mildmilotic.


	13. Epilogue: Pas de Deux Encore

It's Called the Whatcracker?!

Epilogue: Pas de Deux Encore

* * *

The heady sensations of the holiday were finally beginning to wane as snow fell on Christmas Night. Ahiru and Fakir were sitting on the floor of his room enjoying their spoils for the season, already dressed in their night clothes.

Sort of.

"How'd you decide on getting me a new dress anyway?" she asks her companion, spreading the hem of her long skirt out over her feet.

"Lucky guess," he says, his cheeks tinted red and looking down at the open book in his lap.

Ahiru pokes at Fakir's shoulder with a candy cane. He easily pushes it away.

"Hey, Fakir?"

"Hn?"

"I'm sorry... About making you mad before."

Fakir looks up from his book but doesn't face her yet. As he closes the book, he admits, "I wasn't mad at you."

Ahiru shoves at his shoulder and goes, "You were too. And I'm trying to apologize for it 'coz I never did before."

"There's no need."

"You're always saying stuff like that," she grumbles, crossing her arms and turning away from him.

"Ahiru, I was mad at the show," he tells her. "And I was mad about what it was teaching you."

When she turns back at this, she breathes in a tiny gasp as her eyes meet Fakir's. She could feel her mind pull up every night those green eyes haunted her sleep. Yet every fabricated memory couldn't hold a candle to the intent look he gave Ahiru now.

"What it was teaching-?" she asks but is cut off with a slight shake of his head.

"That show... It's nothing but mindless, selfish pleasure," Fakir continues. "You deserve more than that."

Ahiru blushes a little, remembering how he- that is, the Fakir in her dreams- had said something similar. But while the dream was talking just about making her feel good, she knew this was something different. Something stronger.

And now that she thinks about it, every dream Ahiru had was really about herself, wasn't it? It was all her selfish desire to be pleased and Fakir ended up being the form her fantasies took. Here he was talking about her deserving more than mindless pleasure when that's all his presence in her dreams provided her. Suddenly his past anger and frustrations made sense. Without even meaning to, she ended up hurting him when that's the last thing she would ever want to do. She could feel tears of shame welling up in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she ekes out, sniffling some.

Fakir hadn't been expecting this reaction _at all_. A bewildered look comes over his face before he stammers, "H-hey! Don't cry, moron."

"But I didn't even think of that," Ahiru says, wiping the few tears that strayed away with the heel of her hand. "It was just so new and exciting and I didn't even think about how you'd feel at all and...and I really am a moron."

It was one thing to call Ahiru a moron but Fakir finds he doesn't like it when she calls herself a moron. He tilts her chin towards him with his fingertips and goes, "Only I get to call you that."

"Well, you're right."

"You're not supposed to agree with me. Now stop crying."

"Would you stop bossing me around already?" she protests before taking hold of his hand with the intention of taking it off her chin.

But Fakir grabs her hand just as she stands up to leave and says, "Wait. Wait, that's not what I meant."

Ahiru whirls around and takes her hand back, folding her arms under her bust as she waits for him to explain. But now that he's on the spot, Fakir opens and closes his mouth as he tries to find the right words. Her anger dissipates as she watches his face reflect the internal struggle, her stance loosening some.

"I am sorry," Ahiru repeats. "I'm sorry if any of my weird dreams had hurt you. 'Cause you're more than just what you do in my dreams."

Fakir risks stepping a little closer to her, wondering if she might still leave. The memory of his nightmare comes back in full force, a surge of jealousy crashing through him with it. He manages to refrain from pulling her to him as if to protect her from those very thoughts, instead just grasping her hand. She lets out a soft breath at the touch, looking down at their joined hands.

"Moron..." he murmurs. "I know you're not that shallow."

Ahiru looks up at Fakir and gives his hand a little squeeze. This spurs him to reach with his free hand and brush some stray wisps of hair out of her face. She tilts into his touch, closing her eyes and lips parting slightly. The slow, building burn of desire suddenly sparks up.

"Ahiru...?" Fakir whispers, leaning so close that she can feel his warm breath against her.

She squeezes his hand again and he simply must react, softly brushing his lips to hers in a brief, tingling kiss. Ahiru returns the kiss, her free hand smoothing up his chest and to his shoulder. They barely part, just the breadth of a hair away from each other.

Then suddenly, Ahiru giggles, nose wrinkling and smiling wide.

"What?" Fakir asks, pulling back just a bit more.

"I just-I just feel like...like I'm so light right now," she says before dissolving into giggles again. "That probably sounds pretty stupid."

"Hn," he hums back, considering her words. Now that he thinks about it, he feels pretty light, too. "Not really."

"But does it... Do you like it, too?"

He softly scoffs, dismissing her concern. "Of course it does."

Fakir threads his fingers in Ahiru's hair and kisses her again. He lets go of her hand to finally embrace her, pulling her close. She quietly moans, her free hand going to idly rub his upper arm. Her mouth opens to his and, after a momentary pause, his tongue carefully delves in.

But after some brief exploration, he pulls away from her again. She opens her eyes to him, mouth still open and a soft noise of confused disappointment leaving her throat. Was she that bad at it? She thought he wouldn't mind so much since she's never done this before.

"Peppermint?"

"Hunh?"

"I mean I can taste peppermint," Fakir explains, turning slightly away as his cheeks redden even more.

"Oh!" Ahiru exclaims with relief, giggling again. "I brought us candy canes and I already ate mine."

"That explains why your mouth is sticky."

Ahiru huffs and lightly swats at his shoulder. "Jerk."

Fakir was tempted to chuckle at this. At least until he feels her rise up and press a kiss against his jaw.

"And you're too tall," she adds in a murmur just loud enough to mask the soft noise he makes in response.

"Am not," he argues to cover up his surprise.

"Are too; I'm practically _en pointe_," she argues back, lowering to nuzzle in the crook of his neck. And she whispers so quietly that he can barely hear it, "But it's okay... I love you anyway..."

The feel of her speaking against his skin and the meaning of her words sinking in make him shudder, leaving him unable to speak for the moment. His arm tightens around her, a whisper in his mind wondering if she's about to turn into a speck of light and vanish. But when she doesn't, he sighs with relief and lets the hand in her hair trail down to her neck before rubbing across the back of her shoulders. She gives him a muffled mewl and kisses his neck.

After a surprised, sharp gasp, Fakir finds enough of his voice to say, "You should go to your room."

"I don't wanna go," Ahiru tells him, her fingertips trailing up and down his arm.

"Moron," he softly growls, voice rough with arousal.

But the rest of his argument, which would have more or less been defeat anyway, is lost as she resumes kissing his neck, boldly darting her tongue out here and there. His head tilts back on another gasp at her kisses, his hands sliding up and down her back. She pulls back on a shaky breath herself and smooths her hands over his chest. Fakir takes the moment to recover and reach down to meet his mouth to hers again.

Somehow they find themselves moving blindly together, Ahiru clutching into Fakir's shirt as he slowly backs her up into the wall. She gasps when her back meets the wall and her hands wrap around his neck, drawing him closer.

"Oh Fakir..." she croons as he returns the favor, nibbling near her shoulder.

Fakir presses to her at the sound of his name, his nerves ignited with desire. He leans up to put a tender kiss to her cheek. Ahiru rewards him with a breathless laugh.

"I don't think I can stand anymore," she admits.

"Oh no?" Fakir asks, misunderstanding and thus doubling his efforts on her neck.

Ahiru arches to him, rolling up against his growing erection. Fakir cranes his head back with a grunt at this.

"I mean..." she tries to explain. "I mean I'm all weak in the knees."

"Oh," he breathes out with a slight nod before turning to see where the bed is. One of his hands smooths down her side, stopping at her hip.

"In my dream..." she murmurs without thinking.

"Hn?"

Ahiru was already blushing from Fakir's attentions, but this gets even worse as she stammers out, "I mean I dreamed- ack, but you don't wanna hear about my dumb dreams! But in one of the first ones before they got really weird, I mean even weirder than my dreams normally are-"

"What did I do?" Fakir interrupts with a sigh. She might as well spit it out at this point.

"Well..." she continues, looking down at where his hand rests on her. "You had picked up one of my legs."

Fakir follows her glance and, at her words, traces his hand down her thigh and pulls her up against him by her knee. Ahiru inhales sharply as he gives a short pant at the contact.

"Like that?" he asks.

She nods, feeling like she could melt away at his every touch. Starved, she reaches up for another kiss, moaning into his mouth as he follows suit with his other hand. Ahiru hooks her ankles around Fakir's waist as he presses her to the wall again, his hands moving to support her. He purposefully rolls his hips into her, a taste of what's to come, before he carries her to his bed.

Ahiru untangles herself and crawls backwards, sitting upright with her back against the headboard. Fakir crawls after her, situating himself between her propped up legs and brushing his hand on one of her knees.

"You don't want to lie down?" he asks.

"Maybe later," she murmurs, putting her hands around his neck again. "One of my dreams ended with me hitting my head against the top of the bed. And I guess I must've done something like that in my sleep 'cause I woke up with a bump there."

Fakir leans in for another kiss instead of explaining the bump on her head. To be honest, he was surprised at how much she was referring to her dreams. Did this mean she has no real-life experience to draw on? Had she- had she been waiting for him?

Fueled by the thought that Ahiru would want him alone, Fakir descends upon her neck again. This time, however, his hands run up her flat stomach and caress her chest. Ahiru tilts her head back on a throaty moan, arching her back again and pushing her breasts more firmly in Fakir's grasp. He gives her a needy hum, kissing her collarbone as his thumbs tease her nipples.

Ahiru's hands trail down to his back, clutching and pulling his shirt up. He groans at her fingers brushing his skin, his arms pulling her close to him again and his groin rubbing eagerly against hers. She tugs at his shirt a little harder than she might have without such distraction, but it does make it over his head without injury.

Not that he wasn't going to tease her about it.

"Almost took my ear off," he chides before nipping at her own ear, smiling at her choking gasp.

"You...you act like that's not your fault!" she responds.

"It's not my fault if you get dis-" he begins, but he cuts off with a moan.

His jaw drops open as Ahiru runs her hand from shoulder to stomach, tracing his birthmark. She puts her head on Fakir's chest, her fingertips fluttering over his abdomen. Ahiru laughs breathlessly at how his muscles there shift and the way his warm breath carries her name over and over.

Not to be outdone, Fakir tugs Ahiru's skirt up to her waist, smiling as she squirms under his hot touch. She leans away so he can finish pulling her dress up and off, tossing it to join his shirt on the floor. He sits back to simply look at her, gaping a bit as he takes in her almost completely nude form. She turns her head slightly to the left, shyly looking down at the bed and trying not to let her eyes take notice of how his boxers are tented.

"God, you're beautiful..." he huskily whispers, not particularly caring in his aroused state that he let such words slip.

Ahiru smiles up at him and brushes some stray hair out of his eyes with another soft laugh. This turns into a sharp gasp as Fakir closes his mouth on one of her breasts and sucks hard. He slowly kisses across her chest, marking a path to her neglected breast before giving it the same treatment. Then his kisses follow his hands down her stomach, causing her to shudder and grip the headboard for support. Her lower body quivers at his thumbs tugging her panties over her thighs, his hands spread to stroke as much of her legs as possible. Once Fakir finishes their undressing, Ahiru cups his face in her hands and hungrily kisses him. He responds in kind, impatient moans from both of them lost in the heated connection. Fakir grasps her hips again and pulls her into his lap, tempted to just move forward and recklessly deflower her. But he keeps his lower body still and leans towards her ear.

"Ahiru," he softly rasps. "Ahiru, are you sure?"

Ahiru nods before urgently whispering, "Yes! Oh please, Fakir!"

Her hands slide down his chest and to his, where they rest on her hips. He gives her a soft kiss on the jaw before lining his erection up to her slit and thrusting inside with a grunt. Ahiru throws her head back on a startled gasp and grips his hands tightly. Her hips shift just slightly and Fakir sucks in a shaky breath of pleasure.

But when he tries to move, she squeaks, "Wait wait wait wait wait wait wait-!"

"Are you all right?" Fakir gets out.

She sweeps away some loose hair and answers, "I just... I didn't know you'd be so big."

Fakir's face tints red, unsure of what to say to that. He gives her another gentle kiss, his hands moving out from under hers to smooth up and down her spine. After a short while, Ahiru experimentally tilts her hips forward and Fakir loses his restraint just long enough to meet her with a soft, unbidden, "_Ahhhn_..."

Before he can form an apology, her eyes flutter closed and she whispers, "_Oh-!_ Keep going..."

Fakir tilts Ahiru's head up by her chin and gives her one more tender kiss before meeting her in another thrust. He gasps against her lips before setting a pace, soft moans and groans issuing forth. She grasps his shoulders with a gasping cry, her back rattling the headboard with their steady rhythm. Her heels dig into the bed, causing an odd swell of excitement in Fakir as he moves faster. Ahiru arches in his hold, writhing in ecstasy. This was beyond even the best of her dreams, the wildest of her fantasies.

Ahiru takes Fakir's hand and trails it down her stomach, guiding him to where they were joined. "Here," she begs.

Somehow he's able to answer her plea despite his pleasure-addled mind, pressing his thumb to her and earning a desperate moan. It's not long before she throws her head back with a loud, impassioned cry, tipping over the cusp and falling into bliss. Fakir would've been taken aback by her sudden outburst if he wasn't teetering on the brink himself. He joins her in release with one last gasp, helplessly bucking into her as they ride out their orgasms.

Fully spent, Fakir languidly embraces her and rests his forehead on her shoulder, his erratic but slowing breaths fanning out over her breasts. Ahiru threads her fingers through his coarse, dark hair while her her own breathing calms.

"You're quiet," she says after a moment, stroking through his hair.

"Am I supposed to say something?" he asks.

"No, I mean you're all quiet during..."

Fakir lifts his head, green eyes oddly serious as he says, "And you're as much of a loud, klutzy moron as ever."

Ahiru opens her mouth to object but Fakir presses a kiss to the corner, making her forget her words. So she settles for a little shove while he pulls out and a playful murmur of, "Jerk."

Fakir just sighs, too tired and content to argue, and slips down to the bed. His arm rests across her waist, his head dropping down against her stomach.

"Hey, I wanna sleep, too," she says, tugging at the covers and wriggling her way down.

He props himself up when she moves. "All settled now?"

When she nods, his arm curves around her again and he pulls her close.

"You're still such a duck," he mumbles, his breath blowing against her cowlick. "Moving around in your nest."

Ahiru simply nuzzles against his chest, letting herself drift off to sleep at the sound of his voice.

* * *

"You had sex, didn't you?"

Ahiru stumbles over at Lillie's question, faceplanting the ground. It's amazing how much just that slight shift in relationship can change Ahiru down to the very way she walks.

"Oh Ahiru, you're so cute," her friend coos.

* * *

Aura's Notes: SURPRISE CHRISTMAS IN JULY UPDATE! Yeah, I wasn't about to forget this story. There were other plans for an ending here and there with the ideal goal of Bethy and me each writing one, a sort of Choose-Your-Own-Sexventure if you will. But then life happened, so here's what we've got. Hope you enjoyed some gratuitous out of season Christmas sex!


End file.
